Chapter Text
She woke with a start, hand grasping frantically for the handgun under her pillow. Muscle memory flicked off the safety before she remembered where she was. Her dark surroundings still seemed slightly threatening after the horrors of her nightmare. What she knew to be a lamp by the bathroom morphed into a gloomy figure of an unknown guard. She tried to get control over her racing breathing, putting the safety back on the weapon and returning it to its place.
Since her left arm was restrained, she stretched uncomfortably to turn on the lamp beside her bed with her right. Once soft yellow light lit up the shadows she could tell with certainty that she was alone in her bedroom. She knew that of course, however with her body shaky from adrenaline being able to see what occupied her room made her feel safer.
Her body was covered in a thin sheet of sweat, her stomach churning with nausea. Sitting up against her headboard, taking slow, deep breaths, she tried to banish the images from her nightmare. It was one she was having every night since the Scarlet Witch - Wanda, she corrected herself - had unearthed memories she had locked away back when they were fighting Ultron. Even though the young witch was now on their side, and was dealing with the loss of her brother, she still couldn’t bring herself to feel at ease around her. It wasn’t fair, she knew that, but the idea that Wanda could scrap into her mind didn’t sit well with her.
For the last three months, her nightmares held her most horrific memories. Some nights she was back at the graduation ceremony, or hearing the cries of her little sister Yelena as they were dragged apart. Most often her mind tormented her with what would happen after dark, once they were handcuffed into their beds, unable to fight back against the guards who were allowed into their quarters to do what they wished to the deadly assassins being raised.
That’s why she had started handcuffing herself to her bedframe at night again. Because in the nightmare the guards always uncuffed their tiny hands and took them away for an hour or two. If she awoke from a nightmare and couldn’t separate what was reality and what was in the past, the cuff digging into her left wrist reminded her that if she was still cuffed to the bed, she was not with the guards. Not anymore.
Once she had her breathing somewhat under control and didn’t feel like she would throw up if she moved, she took the key from her bedside table and unlocked her handcuffs. In the dim light, she could see the raw skin where they had dug in. She lightly ran her fingers over the marks, her wrist wasn’t bleeding yet, but only just. Night after night handcuffing herself to the bedframe while she was trapped in a nightmare was starting to cause noticeable damage to her wrist.
Steve had asked her a few weeks ago what had happened as she made coffee in the communal lounge. She was exhausted and hadn’t thought that anyone would notice the mark around her wrist, which at the time had been very faint. But Steve had, because of course he did. She blew him off by telling him it had something to do with the mission she had done for Fury a few days earlier and he let it drop. Regardless of how tired she had been, she still noticed the look in his eye that he didn’t quite believe her.
Since then she had made sure to wear long sleeves whenever she left her room, knowing that if he noticed the marks around her wrist weeks ago there was no way he was going to miss the bright red ring now.
Her wrist faintly throbbed, she wrapped her other hand around where the cuff had been and squeezed. The pain flared up somewhat, but not enough. Not enough to make her forget her past.
Feeling a little more steady, she untangled herself from the blankets and got up. Her bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. She picked up her phone and turned it on, the screen showing 2:46 am, just around three hours since she had gotten into bed. There was a message from Steve: couldn’t sleep, watching a movie in the entertainment room if you are awake and want to join.
They had been closer ever since SHIELD fell and Barnes disappeared into the world. She’d been there for him when there was news of his former friend, comforting him when it was bad and giving him tips and ideas if it was good. Yet still there was no sign of the Winter Soldier. With Clint back with his family and the only mission she had either Avengers-related or off the books, Steve had become her closest friend in the Upstate Avengers facility.
She had realized during the fight with Ultron and the return of her nightmares that she had let herself get soft. Let herself get too close to Steve, and let herself start thinking of him as more than a friend. That’s why she had tried to separate herself from him emotionally, tried to stick to strictly being co-leaders of the Avengers only.
So while going and sitting with Steve and watching a mindless movie to help clear her head sounded like a wonderful idea, she couldn’t. She needed to deal with this on her own, without dragging Steve down into her web. He had enough worries about Barnes as it was, he didn’t need to worry about her as well. Plus she was fine, she always was.
She turned her phone off and left it on the bed, turning to go into her bathroom. Turning on the light she braced her hands on the white marble counter and stared into her reflection. The light made her skin look even paler than it already was, looking sickly white against her red hair. Purple bags under her eyes added to the narrative. She could still see leftover tear tracks on her cheeks from the horror of her nightmare.
The Black Widow was strong. Someone who didn’t need others and certainly didn’t need help. But the exhausted woman looking back in the mirror didn’t reflect the Black Widow. Far from it. She had gotten weak away from the Red Room and she knew it. Madame B and Dreykov would be ashamed of her. And Melina too she thought. It was difficult in the state she was in at the moment to remind herself that she didn’t want them to be proud of her. That was the past and it was gone. Right?
Her skin felt itchy with the sweat drying, and the memory of others' hands on her made her feel the need to scrub her body clean. Midnight showers were turning into another ritual of hers, nightmares leaving her with a desire to be clean from ghostly hands.
Turning on the shower to the hottest it could go, she stripped off her shirt and sleep shorts before stepping under the spray. The heat shocked her at first before her body got used to the temperature. Right away she couldn’t keep her eyes from gazing at the small dagger sitting next to her luffa and shampoo bottle. She kept it there in case of an intruder, however recently it had begun to catch her attention for other reasons. Ones she hadn’t let herself succumb to yet. All the same, her resolve was fading with each sleepless night.
As she scrubbed her skin till it was red and washed her hair she tried to think of something else. Anything else. Running over a to-do list as mundane as washing some dishes and doing laundry to trying to figure out unique challenges for the new team members. Yet her mind kept going back to one thing.
She had never done it before, she hadn’t needed to. If she wanted to feel pain or felt she deserved to feel pain, she would just be a little sloppy on a mission. Nothing to jeopardize the outcome, of course, little things like letting someone knick her with a knife that she easily could’ve avoided. Letting a kick land on her ribs when she had seen it coming a mile away. It was easier that way as she didn’t need to hide her injuries and makeup excuses as to why they were there.
With SHIELD gone it was harder. There were fewer missions to go on and she had spent the last couple of months going on training missions with the others. Missions where she couldn’t just let herself get hurt as Steve would know right away that she had done it on purpose since there was no way she would ever get hurt on missions that simple. It was annoying more than anything. Because now it had brought her to this. The knife in the shower.
She picked it up and studied the sharp blade, water droplets dripping down the metal. She had hoped the pain around her wrist would help but all it did was make her long for more. The raw skin around her wrist wasn’t enough to distract her.
There were two reasons why she felt the need to drag a blade across her skin. Sometimes after nightmares, she felt so disconnected from herself that it felt like she was walking in slow motion. Or watching a movie of herself. She couldn’t feel the ground beneath her feet and needed pain to ground her back to the moment. The other reason she knew was more rooted in her past and how she was raised. Mistakes she made, like letting Steve into her life, not disguising her emotional problems better or not doing well enough in the training needed punishment. And without the Red Room to punish her, she had to take up the mantle instead.
She knew it was wrong. Knew that it would be even harder to hide the marks that would so obviously be from her own doing. It just didn’t seem worth it to hold off any longer, she was just so exhausted.
She watched the knife slip across her thigh as if she were floating above herself. Feeling the slight sting of pain at the first slice, not deep enough to require stitches yet still deep enough to bleed. The blood collected in the cut for a few moments before tiny little drops appeared. A bigger one wept down her leg, leaving a trail of dark red behind before being washed away by the water.
After watching the blood for a few more moments she brought the blade to her pale flesh, just under the first and cut again. And again. And again. After four cuts she put the knife down, no need to go overkill. Watching the trickles of red wash down her thigh made her feel just a bit better. Just for a couple of minutes, she could forget about her nightmares and just watch the blood ooze. Blood that she caused and had control over, soft throbbing keeping her just grounded enough to feel the tile under her feet and the water trail down her back. Just for tonight, it was enough. It had to be.
After her shower, she felt bone tired. A wariness in her soul that seemed bottomless. The cuts on her thigh burned as did the ring of raw skin around her thin wrist. She didn’t bother to put anything on the cuts, just pulled on a pair of black leggings and threw a loose shirt with sleeves on to cover her wrists.
She glanced at her bed when exiting the bathroom, her body longing for rest yet she knew trying to sleep again would only bring the nightmares back. She didn’t feel strong enough to deal with the memories anymore tonight. Weak, she chided herself. That is what she was after all. Not able to deal with her emotions well enough to keep the knife in the shower from being unused.
Instead, she needed something to take her mind off of everything. And the only thing that did that now was training. At least when she was training it felt like she was doing something to strengthen herself. While she couldn’t prove to be useful to herself, she could at least be in the best shape she could be for the Avengers. That was her purpose now after SHIELD.
She quietly left her room and made her way down to the training gym. Going the long way to purposely avoid the entertainment room where Steve was watching a movie. For a moment she almost considered joining him, however, she knew her time was better spent polishing her skillset.
The chill of the AC in the gym caused goosebumps to rise on her flesh, banishing any warmth she had acquired during her shower. She eyed the equipment and struggled to decide on what she wanted to do. Any decision these days was beginning to bring her difficulty, just like when she was first brought in by Clint.
Finally, she settled on the punching bag. She sat down by the wall and carefully wrapped her hands. The last thing she needed to do right now was cause damage to her knuckles that would without a doubt be met with unwanted questions from Steve. And probably Sam as well.
Once her hands were rapped she began swinging on the punching bag. The consistent thwack of her hands against it calmed her a little. She was exhausted, her eyes felt heavy and she was already slightly lightheaded. All she wanted was a good night's rest, but she shuddered at the thought of going back to her bed. She would push through the tiredness for a few hours and when she was practically collapsing on her feet, only then would she try to get an hour or two more of rest. Sometimes she was able to tire herself out to the point of a dreamless sleep.
It was at times like this that she wished Clint stayed in the facility as well. While he was better off in retirement with his family, she missed being able to talk to him. He was the only one she had let beneath her walls and now he wasn’t here. A few times back at SHIELD if she was having trouble sleeping like she was now, Clint would stay in her apartment with her. Just watching some random sports channel in the other room, but knowing he was there was enough for her mind to be at peace for a few more hours than usual. They never really talked about it in the morning, however, she knew that he didn’t judge her.
He was the only one she would let see her true problems. And even then he didn’t know the half of it. He never picked up on the tendency she had to harm herself, which she was thankful for. It was one of the reasons she refused to call him now because she didn’t trust herself not to crumble and tell him everything. She couldn’t do that, she wouldn’t let herself.
While Steve was a good alternative to Clint, she had vowed never to let more than her SHIELD partner see beneath her mask. It was difficult back in her early SHIELD days to even let Clint in. Looking back she decided it had more to do with her fragile mental state when she had first been brought to America than anything else. She was supposed to be stronger now. Her masks were in place to protect herself and they had been doing a good job so far, she wouldn’t let them down now.
She stayed down in the gym for a few hours, until she was unsteady on her feet and eyes were slipping closed. Only then did she make her way back up to her room, avoiding anyone in the halls before slipping beneath the covers. Her wrist was securely fastened to the bed frame.
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At 10 am, roughly two hours later she awoke. While feeling better than she had in the training gym, she was still tired. However, training for Wanda, Vision and Sam started in an hour. Unlocking the cuff around her wrist and rolling out of bed, she changed into a clean outfit and put some makeup under her eyes. It made the purple bags look a little lighter but didn’t erase them altogether much to her annoyance.
Having heard their voices from down the hall she was prepared for all who lived in the facility to be gathered around the kitchen table, wolfing down pancakes, eggs and bacon. Already knowing who was making them, she glanced over at the oven to see Steve standing there and flipping pancakes, an at-ease expression on his face. She had known since being partnered with him at SHIELD that he enjoyed cooking and with plenty of time on his hands at the facility he had flourished. Often making team breakfast every morning, with baked goods on hand throughout the day.
“Mornin’”, she said flippantly to the team as she made her way over to the coffee machine. Someone had already brewed a pot, steam still drifting out the top. Perfect. As she poured herself a mug she could sense Steve looking at her out of the corner of her eye.
“Careful Steve, you’re gonna end up with some burned pancakes if you don’t pay attention to them.” She joked, cracking what she hoped was a convincing smirk. Despite her attempt at humour, Steve didn’t smile and continued to study her. The way he always looked at her made her stomach flip, whether in nervousness or some other feeling she refused to acknowledge. Now though he was looking at her with concern. She could feel her cheerful act start to crack.
After what felt like too long he looked back down at the pancakes, “You didn’t answer my text last night, but I heard you go down to the gym.”
She took a sip of her coffee, black as usual, “I just needed to get out some energy and didn’t feel like I could sit and watch a movie. I should have texted you back at least, I’m sorry.”
“I was trying to give you some space since Ultron because you were struggling through something, I could tell,” He explained, beginning to put finished pancakes on a plate beside him. “But I’m worried about you Natasha, you barely sleep and you don’t look well.”
She looked down, not wanting to meet his eye. Instead, she studied the red, white, and blue pattern of the apron he was wearing. She had seen it in a shop over a year earlier and had gotten it for him as a gift for Christmas. It was meant to be a joke but he had worn it while cooking ever since.
He reached out and put his hand gently on her shoulder, she tried to minimize her flinch at the contact. He noticed her reaction because of course he did and the concern on his face grew deeper. “You can talk to me, Nat.”
And how desperately she wanted to. She wanted to be with him when she had nightmares, sit next to him and watch movies when they both had trouble sleeping. She wished to share her thoughts and fears with him. But she couldn’t, she didn’t know how to let down the walls she had so carefully crafted. Afraid that if he saw the side of her that wasn’t the Black Widow, that was weak, he would no longer see her as his equal. Deep down she knew he was much too good a man to judge her for her feelings, however, she had done terrible things in her past and he had every right to judge them. She was to blame for the red in her ledger, and she refused to burden Steve with the knowledge she carried.
Her hand gripped tight around her coffee mug, its surface close to scalding. “I’m alright, Steve, just a little tired is all.” He dropped his hand from her shoulder and she instantly missed the heaviness of his hand.
“Just,” he stammered, looking for the words, “let me know if there’s anything I can do. Please, Natasha.”
She just nodded and accepted the plate of pancakes he gave her. While she didn’t feel hungry she needed to avoid worrying him even more. Leaving Steve to his cooking she sat down at an empty chair with the rest. Only when she took her first bite did she realize her pancakes were the only ones with chocolate chips, something she had told Steve had been the first meal Laura had cooked for her when they had met at the farmhouse.